the honest truth

the honest truth

of now, here,

is this:

the leaves

abandon the branches

in a death that

tumbles outward

like laughter

i’d like to think

an ending, light like that

mulch for the dense earth

will lay low my temple

and return me to the fold

to kiss and leave the shores

and sandbars of the living moment 

the weight

of the loss borne by

delicate branches

which gently reach

like god 

whose soft, callused hands

spin suns into a slowly

whirling

ecstatic dance